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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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http://www.archive.org/details/frazerpoemsOOfrazrich 


POEMS 


BY 


CHARLES  L.  FRAZER 


SUN  PRINTING  AND  PUBLISHING  HOUSE 

SAN  BERNARDINO.  CALIFORNIA 

1922 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY 

CHARLES  L.  FRAZER 

PUBLISHED,  NOVEMBER.  1922 


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a  lit  nor 


CONTENTS 


Page 

My  Mother  15 

For  God   and   Coun'try 16 

The   Flag 17 

Swing    Ye   Low 20 

The  iS'peckled  Trout  21 

Autumn    Rain 23 

Voices   of   Nature   25 

The   Mocking  Bird   26 

The  Manger   Cradle  27 

Evening   in    Oalifornia   28 

Alone    29 

The  Lily  and  the  Rose 30 

Beyond    the    Clouds 31 

Mother-Love    32 

The   Unfathomable    33 

When?    35 

Dawn  In  The   Foothills 36 

Vioiceless    Yet    Speak,ing 37 

Two  Pictures  38 

By    The    Sea 39 

Babyland    40 

"Neddie" 43 

Anchors    44 

Simplicity    45 


5034^^- 


Back  Yonder  47 

The   Choice    50 

Conquest    51 

I  Like  It  First  Rate 52 

Who  Is  My  Friend? 55 

The    Sherman    56 

El    Caney 58 

Coimmiand 6 1 

Yesterday,   Today,    Tomorrow 62 

Drifting    and   Ba:ttling    63 

In   Dreams 64 

The    Creation    of    Man 66 

A  Wiayside  Flower 67 

The    .Sunshine    Way 68 

The   Norther    69 

In    His    Rememhrance 71 

Forgeit   It,   Forget   It  Not 72 

The  Call  Of  The  Hills 73 

The  Song  In  The  Heart 74 

Days   Of  June 76 

Love    Supreme    77 

In  Sunshine  and  Storm 78 

The    Baby 81 

Autumn  Back  Thar'  and  Here 82 

Talk    Sunshine    85 

All    For    Columhia 86 

The   Old  'Swimming   Bole 88 

The  Glory  of  Winter 90 

My    Ships    a-t    Sea 93 


Off   Guard   : 96 

Just    Today 97 

Towser's    Lament    9?$ 

Patching    The   Highways 99 

That    World-wide    Peace 101 

The  Brook  And  The  Boy 108 

The    Mionths 105-111 

Eaisiter      Morn 112 

The    Blue   And   The   Grey 113 

A    Prayer    115 

Caroline    116-119 

The    Pacific 120 

A    Life    Petition 122 


FOREWORD 

These  writings  of  my  leisure  moments  have 
been  assembled  in  this  little  booklet  because 
of  the  oft  expressed  wish  of  friends  and  rela- 
tives that  I  would — as  one  well-known  Cali- 
fornia writer  puts  it — * 'gather  them  together 
under  one  roof.*'  V/hen,  recently,  such  a 
suggestion  came  as  the  wish  of  a  beloved 
niece,  the  late  Josephine  Frazer  Tabor,  of 
Hollywood,  I  accepted  the  fulfillment  as  a 
sacred  trust.  It  is,  therefore,  with  a  com- 
bined sense  of  duty  and  pleasure  I  am  having 
published  this  little  volume  of  Random 
Rhymes. 

In  the  absence  of  dates  I  have,  with  few 
exceptions,  arranged  the  poems  as  nearly  as 
possible  from  memory,  in  chronological  order, 
They  cover  a  period  from     1898,  to   1922. 

If,  because  of  the  ties  of  kinship,  or  long- 
time friendships  they  are  valued,  I  am  con- 
tent; I  am  niore  than  repaid. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


In  memory  of  my  dear  Mother,  to  whose 
love  and  self-sacrificing  devotion  we,  her 
children,  are  deeply  indebted  for  all  that  we 
have  and  are. 

No  burden  was  too  heavy,  no  sacrifice  too 
great  if,  thereby,  our  mental,  moral  and 
physical  welfare  was  advanced. 

Gentle  in  spirit,  even  in  temperament, 
forgiving  and  trusting,  faithful  unto  the  end — 
this  was  our  Mother. 

With  fond  recollections      of     her      abiding 
faith  in,      and      great     love  for  us,   this  little 
volume  is  affectionately  inscribed  by  her  son. 
CHARLES   L.   FRAZER. 


MY   MOTHER  15 


MY  MOTHER 

My  Mother  is  waiting  for  me,  somewhere, 
While  the  seasons  are  threading  with  silver 
my  hair; 

She  will  wait  I  know,  for  she  told  me  so 
Away  back  there  in  the  long-ago. 

Yes,    she's   waiting    for   me   at   some   trysting 

place 
That   God   has  prepared   in   His   wondrous 

grace; 
Though  the  years  come  and  go  like  the  river's 

flow 
She  is  keeping  her  vigil  some  place,  I  know. 

And  back  through  the  years — I  can  see  her 
now. 
With  the  etching  of  time  on  her  furrowed 
brow; 
With  her  snowy  hair,  and  her  face  so  fair. 
My  Mother  is  waiting  for  me  somewhere. 


THE  FLAG  17 


THE  FLAG 

(Read  by  Judge  Rex  B.  Goodcell  at  the 
dedication  of  Camp  Cajon  July  4,  1919,  and 
by  William  M.  Bristol  at  the  dedication  of  Live 
Oak  Park  by  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  of 
northern  San  Diego  County,  July    17,    1920.) 

Hats  off,  ye  men!  Now  lift  the  flag  on  high: 
Break  out  its  folds  and  let  them  proudly  fly 

As  from  its  staff  on  this  our  natal  day 

There  floats  the  banner  none  may  take  away. 

It's  streaming  lines,  it's  starry  field  of  blue 
Are  caught  by  winds  that  long  have  known 
them  true: 

And  rising,  falling,  with  exquisite  grace. 
They  kiss  each  other  in  a  fond  embrace. 


18  THE  FI/AG 

Flag  of  our  own,  we  give  thee  to  the  breeze: 
Thrice  hail  on  land,  thrice  hail  on  bounding 
seas: 

On  armored  deck,  o*er  valley,  peak  and  crag, 
Wave  on,  and  on,  our  own  beloved  flag! 

fp  iji  ip  ip 

Thrice-hallowed  flag,   one  moment  thou  shalt 
be 
Half-masted  for  those  Sons  of  Liberty 
Who,  over  seas  or  on  the  swelling  flood 
Have  re-baptized     thee     with     a     nation's 
blood. 

Our  hero  dead!  No  matter  how  they  fell. 
In  camp,  at  sea»  on  crimson  fields  of  hell; 

They  gave  their  all  our  pledged  faith  to  keep, 
Tis  ours  to  pay  them  homage  as  they  sleep. 

Peace  to  their  ashes;  let  us  write  each  name 
In  fadeless  glory  on  the  roll  of  fame: 

And  unborn  freemen  shall  their  valor  tell — 
Soldier,  and  sailor,  fare,  O  fare  thee  well! 


Flag  of  the  free,  beloved  on  land  and  main. 
May   treason   never   thy   escutcheon   stain; 

Defeat — the  battle  lost — ^were  better  far 
Than  that  dishonor  dim  one  single  star. 


THE  FJjAiG  19 

Aye,  better  that  thy  stars  forever  set; 
And  God,  and  men»  and  angles  thee  forget. 
Than  that  thy  name  should  ever  used  be 
To  bind  one  shackle  on  humanity. 

But  thou,  O  flag,  shalt  not  thine  honor  yield! 

Not  by  one  thread,  or  star  upon  thy  shield! 
Through  calm  and  storm  undaunted  shalt 
thou  ride. 

And  all  thy  deathless  principles  abide. 

O,  Thou  Who  boldest  in  Thy  guilding  hand 
The  veiled  future  of  this  mighty  land. 

Keep  Thou  our  flag,  and  may  it  ever  be 
Triumphant  in  the  cause  of  liberty! 

Then   fly,     proud     flag,     from    thine    exalted 
place; 
Shine  on,  ye  stars,  by  God*s  eternal  grace! 
With  faith  undimmed  we  dedicate  anew 

Ourselves  to  thee — the  Red,  the  White,  the 
Blue. 


20  SWING  YE  LOW 

SWING  YE  LOW 

Swing  ye  low,  ye  weeping  clouds* 
Roll  ye  up  against  the  hills; 

Drench  the  earth  with  flowing  tears 
Till  ye  land  with  new  life  thrills. 

Till  the  streams  are  running  o'er 
With  ye  flood-tide  of  ye  gift. 

Ere  ye  azure  blue  of  heaven 

Shall  break  through  ye  widening  rift. 

Till  ye  everlasting  rocks 

Fashioned  in  ye  nature's  mold 

Shall  come  thundering  down  ye  streams 
As  ye  did  in  days  of  old 

Ere  ye  north  wind  taught  deceit — 
Taught  dissembling,  and  a  lie, 

Till  ye  land  was  parched  and  brown 
'Neath  ye  cloudless,  cruel  shy. 

Swing  ye  low,  then,  weeping  clouds  I 
Pour  ye  out  ye  pent-up  tears; 

Fill  ye  land  with  joy  and  hope! 
Banish  doubting,  banish  fears! 


THE    SPECKDE'D    TROUT  21 

THE  SPECKLED  TROUT 

Where  high  Sierra  rears  its  wooded  crest 

Wooing  the  mists  that  come  from  o'er  the 
sea 
Damp    with    the    coolness    from  the    ocean's 
breast, 
And  ladened  with  the  fragrance  of  the  lea. 

Where  stately  pines  lift  high  their  lofty  heads 

In  proud  defiance  of  the  wintery  blast. 
Where  tangled   ferns  make  soft  and  fragrant 
beds 
For  brown-eyed  deer  when  ice  and  snow  are 
past. 

Where  silence  reigns,  save  the  laughing  song 
Of  the  tumbling  brook  as  it  winds  about. 

Where  shadows  are  deepest  all  day  long 
O,  this  is  the  home  of  the  speckled  trout! 

Far  from  the  haunts  of  designing  foes, 

A  stranger  to  whir  of  the  rod  and  reel. 

Little  cares  he  for  the  wind  that  blows, 

Nor    knows*     nor      fears     the    sportsman's 
barbed  steel. 

Beware!  blithe  beauty  of  the  mountain  stream. 
Thy  kinsmen  oft  their  wise  resolves  forsook. 


22 


THE;   SPECKLED    TROUT 


And    found — too   late — the   gad-fly's    flashing 
gleam 
But  ill'concealed    the    sportsman's    barbed 
hook. 

E*en    now   he   comes    with   stealthy,    wolf-like 
tread, 
Threading   his   way   through   tangled    grass, 
and  dank. 
He  casts  upon  the  stream  his  silken  thread — 
A  flash!  the  troutlet  lies  upon  the  bank. 


O,   cruel  fate,   to  wrest  thee  from  thy  moun- 
tain home 
To  grace  the  basket  of  a  heartless  sport! 
Thy  gleaming  sides,   reflecting  silvery  foam. 
Would    shame    the    jewels    of   an    empress' 
court. 


THE  AUTUMN  RAIN  23 

AUTUMN  RAIN 

An  ashy  haze  o'erspreads  the  western  sea; 

The    mountain    veils    in    gathering    mist    its 
crest ; 
All  nature  smiles  benign,  expectantly, 

The  day  falls  quickly  into  night  and  rest. 

Far  out  to  sea  the  rising  billows  leap 
In  swift  obedience  to  an  Unseen  Hand, 

Huge  waves  roll  inward  from  the  mighty  deep 
And  break  with  thunders  on  the  yellow  sand. 

Along  the  hills  a  narrow  cloud  steals  in 
As  if  by  stealth  the  tow' ring  peaks  to  gain; 

The  rising  winds  their  monotones  begin, 

They  are  the  vanguards  of  the  autumn  rain. 

The   gathering   night   draws   close    her    manle 
grey. 
Darkness,    supreme,    rules   with   her  sombre 
hue; 
Departing  summer  softly  steals  away 

And  to  the  south-land  bids  a  fond  adieu. 

The    drifting   haze   has    changed    to    ranks   of 
cloud ; 
Swifty  they  come  o'ercasting  earth  and  sky; 


24 


THE  AUTUMN  RAIN 


The    east   wind    greets    them    as    of    conquest 
proud. 
Bright  rainless  summer  now,  alas,  good  bye! 

We  love  thy  warmth,   we  love  thy  cloudless 
skies 

Bringing  to  earth  a  wealth  of  golden  grain, 
But  nature  from  an  empty  store-house  cries 

**A11  hail,  all  hail  the  glorious  autumn  rain!" 


VOICES  OF  NATUflEliE  25 


VOICES  OF  NATURE 


The  bursting  bud  with  petals  white 

That  casts  its  frgrance  on  the  night. 
The  clouds  that  fleck  the  evening  skies, 
The  love  that  looks  from  Mother's  eyes, 
The  thistle  down,  the  droning  bee. 

The  wonders  of  the  earth  and  sea. 
The  moon,   the  stars,   the  glorious  sun 
Whose  cycles  through  the  ages  run. 
But  speak  the  glories  of  His  name 

Who  forged  the  world  in  nature's  flame. 


26  THE  MOCKING  BIRD 

THE  MOCKING  BIRD 

(The  California  mocker  sings  all  night) 

When  sets  the  sun  and  day  is  o'er, 
And  twilight  deepens  in  the  west. 

When  shadows  creep  among  the  trees 
And  mating  birds  have  gone  to  rest. 

When  purple  clothes  the  distant  hills 
In  softening  lines  of  gathering  night. 

Forth  from  his  nook  in  shadows  deep 
The  mock-bird  comes  with  wild  delight. 

A  lonely  tree,  a  topmost  bough, 
A  bending  twig  by  breezes  swung, 

A  rostrum   high — secure  retreat — 
A  medley  on  the  night-winds  flung. 

A  crooning  sweet,  a  note  of  joy, 
A  cry  like  the  wail  of  the  lost, 

A  love-song,  a  whistle  defiant. 

On  the  wings  of  the  night-wind  tossed. 

No  prowling  foe  may  here  molest 

Thy  reverberant  notes,   or  thee  af right; 
Thy  Heaven-born  song  is  music  sweet. 

Brown  songster  of  the  lonely  night. 

*     *     * 

Through  the  long  hours,  the  world  asleep. 

Echoes  his  tireless  roundelay. 
Till  sunlight  gilds  the  distant  peaks 

Calling  the  world  to  greet  the  day. 


THE    MANGER    CRADLE  27 

THE  MANGER  CRADLE 

Cradled  in  a  lowly  manger 

Under  blue  Judean  skies, 
On  a  world  of  sin  and  sorrow 

Opened  first  our  Savior's  eyes. 

Opened  on  a  life  of  service 

For  a  ruined  world — and  sinning, 

He,  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem, 

Saw  the  end  fro  mi  the  beginning: 

Saw  the  cold  world  stern,  relentless, 
Trample  on  His  great  heart-yearning. 

Heard  His  trusted  friend  deny  Him, 
Friendship  for  The  Saviour  spurning. 

Saw  the  cruel  cross  of  Calvary 

On  Golgotha's  clouded  rim. 
Felt  the  spear-trust  and  the  anguish 

That  shall  draw  all  men  to  Him. 


28  EVENING   IN   CAIilPORNIA 

EVENING  IN  CALIFORNIA 

The  shadows  lengthen; 

The  breezes  cease  to  blow 
From  off  the  restless  sea 

Whose  waves  are  never  stilled. 
A  hush,  the  hush  of  evening, 

Falls  on  the  brown  earth. 
And  dusk  puts  out  the  light 

With  which  the  world  was  filled. 

From  the  still  forests. 

The  canyons  choked  with  vines, 
Comes  a  refreshing  breath 

The   gift   of  kindly  night; 
The  great  moon  sweeps  majestic. 

Queen  of  the  evening  sky. 
Flooding  the  hills 

With  soft  and  mellow  light. 

Now  pass  the  stars — 

God's  jewels  of  the  heavens— 
In  swift  procession 

From  the  Orient  sky; 
And  the  tired  earth  is  sleeping. 

Wrapped  in  sweet  dreams 
Within  the  hollow  of  His  hand, 

Neath  His  all-watchful  eye. 


AliONB  29 

ALONE 

Alone  I  tread  life's  devious  way. 

Alone  I  journey  day  by  day; 
Though  she  whose  hand  I  hold  in  mine. 

Whose  life  doth  with  my  own  entwine 
Walks  by  my  side. 

Alone,  though  foes  may  taunt  and  jeer, 
Alone,  though  friends  are  ever  near; 

I  am  as  far  removed,  I  ween. 

As  though  the  ocean  rolled  between. 
With  restless  tide. 

They  grasp  my  hand,  they  speak  to  me. 

My  inner  self  they  may  not  see. 
Nor  know  the  things  I  think  and  feel: 

Except  as  I   myself  reveal 
I  am  alone. 


30  THE   LILY   AND   THE   ROSE 

THE  LILY  AND  THE  ROSE 

Said  the  Jacqueminot  to  the  lily  bulb 

I  see  no  beauty  of  form  or  face, 
No  flush  of  morn,  no  evening  glow 

In  your  withered  body,  devoid  of  grace; 
I  wonder  why  you  linger  so? 

Quoth  the  bulb,  dear  Jack,  alas,  tis  true 
The  deepest  dyes  were  given  to  you 

In  crimson  velvet  gowned; 

But  hidden  deep  in  my  inmost  heart 

Is  a  germ  of  life  that  will  quickly  start 
When  April  warmth  is  found. 

And  bear  aioft  on  swaying  spike 

A  dew-kissed  snowy  cup. 
There's  room,  if  we  like,  for  you  and  for  me. 

And    the   world   may   pass,    and   the   world 
may  see, 

IF  WE  LOOK  UP. 


BEYOND    THE    CLOUDS  31 

BEYOND  THE  CLOUDS 

Somewhere  upon  the  great  highway 

Will  surely  dawn  a  tragic  day 
When  blotted  seems  the  fairest  page. 

And  life  earns  only  bitter  wage. 

Perhaps  Dame  Fortune — fickle  one, 

Has  smiled  upon  a  rising  sun» 
Then  vanished  while  the  hours  were  bright 

And  turned  the  day  to  stygian  night. 

Perhaps  a  loyal,  trusted  friend 

Who  should  be  faithful  to  the  end. 

Has  faltered  in  a  crucial  hour 

And  trampled  friendship's  fairest  flower. 

Mayhap  the  horseman  from  that  shore 
From  whence  return   is  nevermore. 

Paused  at  the  door  in  mad  career 

And  froze  the  heart  with  nameless  fear. 

Ol  sweet  to  know  the  bruised  reed 

May  rise  when  from  its  chastening  freed; 

Beyond  the  clouds,  the  storm,  the  pall. 
The  sun  still  shines  high  over  all. 


32  MOTHER-DOVE 

MOTHER-LOVE 

Can  thought  conceive,  or  tongue  proclaim 
Save  one,  a  holier,  sweeter  name? 

Can  angels  know  in  Heaven  above 
A  truer,  a  diviner  love? 

Is  there  a  friend  so  faithful,  true. 
Or  so  unselfish,  known  to  you, 

Who  follows  though  your  pathway  lead 
To  prison  doors  through  power  of  greed? 

Can  pomp  and  power,  and  golden  years, 
Outweigh  a  mother's  anguish- tears  ? 

Can  slander,  with  its  poison  dart 
Stifle  the  longings  of  her  heart? 

Ah  no!  as  well  with  puny  hand 

Turn  back  the  rising  tide  with  sand» 

No  bonds  can  Mother-Love  confine. 
So  deep,  so  boundless,  so  Divine. 


s»^     a^ 


THE   UNFATHOMABiLE  33 

THE  UNFATHOMABLE 

Can  you  harness  the  steeds  of  the  storm-tossed 
sea 

Or  number  the  sands  on  its  shores, 
Can  you  tell  how  the  flowers  bloom  on  the  lea. 

Do  you  know  how  the  eaglet  soars? 

Knowest  thou  from  whence  the  auroral  glow, 

Or  the  pole-star's  mystic  power, 
Can  you  weigh  in  a  balance  the  river's  flow. 

Or  the  dew  on  a  bending  flower? 

Can  you  measure  the  depth  of  a  mother  s  love. 
Can  you  fathom  the  human  will. 

Can  you  paint  the  wind-blown  clouds  above 
Can  you  say  to  the  storm,  **Be  still-" 

Can  you  soothe  the  anguish  of  tears  unwept. 
Can  you  weave  the  threads  of  a  life, 

Can  you  mend  a  promise  of  love  unkept. 
Or  unravel  the  tangle  of  strife? 

Can  you  number  the  stars  in  night's  diadem 
As  they  pass  in  silent  review. 


34  THE   UNFATHOMABLE 

Can  you  fathom  the  light  of  the  nearest  gem 
That  glows  in  her  crown  of  blue? 


O,  finite  mind  thou  hast  a  wide  domain 

Where  thou  mayest  soar,   or  be  an   earthy 
clod! 
But  thou  are  barred  as  by  a  mighty  chain 
From  knowledge  in  the  boundless  sphere  of 
God. 


WHEN?  35 

WHEN? 

When  will  you  speak  encouragement 
To  one  with  heavy  burdens  bent? 
Tomorrow. 

When  will  you  pay  fond  memory's  debt. 
And  fancied  slights  and  wrongs  forget? 
Tomorrow. 

When  will  you  do  the  kindly  deed, 
A  stranger  did  you  in  your  need? 
Tomorrow, 

When  will  you  say  the  kindly  word 
The  dead  while  living  should  have  heard? 
Tomorrow. 

When  will  you  strive  the  right  to  do. 
And  evil  words  and  wrong  eschew? 
Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow?     Aye,  and  so  alway. 
And  when  it  conies  it  is  today. 
Tomorrow. 


36  DAWN  IN  THE  FOOTHILLS 

DAWN  IN  THE  FOOTHILLS 

Low  o'er  the  valley  a  phantom  is  lifting 

Arms  to  the  sea  and  its  great  parent-heart; 

Wraith  of  the  night  ever  changeful  and  drifting. 
Derelict,  homeless,  no  anchor  no  chart. 

0*er  the  glad  hills  the  grey  light  is  stealing. 
Conquering  the  night  and  dispelling  the  mist; 

Out  o'er  the  plains  the  bird-notes  are  pealing. 
Sparkling    the    fields,     and     the     blossoms, 
dew-kissed. 

Radient  the  sky  with  the  dawn  of  his  coming; 
Fir-crowned,  the  peaks  are  aglow  with  the 
morn; 
Through  the  grey  sage  the  wild  bees  are  hum- 
ming* 
The  world  is  awaking — a  new  day  is  bom. 


VOICELESS    YET    SPEAKING  37 

VOICELESS  YET  SPEAKING 

The  whispering  grass,  each  vibrant  leaf, 
The  ripened  grain,  the  bursting  sheaf. 

Are  calling:  **Look  above." 

The  distant  hills,  the  constant  sea 
Are  voices  that  do  speak  to  me 

Of  God*s  unchanging  love. 


38  TWO  PICTURES 

TWO  PICTURES 

In  my  little  cottage  bed-room 

Hanging,  Oh,  these  many  years! 
Is  a  picture  old  and  faded 

And  I  scarce  can  hide  the  tears 
As  I  look  upon  that  canvas. 

Marred  by  time's  relentless  flow. 
For  that  warm  heart  was  my  castle 

In  the  kingdom  of  By  Lo. 

She  it  was  who,  uncomplaining. 
Bore  my  load  of  grief  and  care, 
Suaged  my  sorrows,  kissed  my  bruises 
When  my  feet  were  brown  and  bare; 

Kept  my  wayward  steps  from  straying 
Into  stony  paths,   and  steep. 

Taught  my  infant  lips  to  utter 

**Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep.'* 

But  I  have  another  picture. 

Oh,  to  me  it  is  so  fair! 
Though  the  cheeks  have  lost  their  roses. 

And  there's  silver  in  the  hair; 
Time  can  never  dim  its  beauty — 

Such  the  Master  Painter's  art — 
It  was  painted  there  in  By  Lo; 

Tis  the  picture  in  my  heart. 


BY   THE   SEA  39 

BY  THE  SEA 

I  sat  one  evening  where  the  lonely  sea 
Chafed  at  its  confines  restlessly. 

The  sun  went  down  in  liquid  blue. 
Painting  the  sky  with  gorgeous  hue. 

The  breezes  moaned  thro'  sedges  damp, 
The  man   in   the  watch-tower    hung    out    his 
lamp. 

Flashing  its  rays  far  out  o*er  the  wave, 
Some  wandering  ship  from  the  rocks  to  save. 

I  pondered  long  while  murmurs  crept 
From  over  the  cliff  where  the  waters  swept 

With  a  ceaseless  cadence  that  seemed  to  say, 
What  is  life  but  a  summer  day? 

I  asksd  myself,  is  there  no  light 
That  flashes  thro*  my  earthly  night, 

V/arning  my  bark  from  rock  and  shoal, 
Pointing  the  way  to  the  harbor  goal? 

From  depths  within  a  still,  small  voice 
Bade  me  arise,  look  up,  rejoice; 

And,  lol  I  read  in  the  evening  sky, 
*The  Light  of  the  stricken  world  am  I." 


40  BABYLAND 

BABYLAND 

I  know  a  land  where  sunbeans  chase 
The  shadows  through  the  dells. 

Whose  vales  resound  to  music  soft 
As  Cashmere's  evening  bells. 

Its  shores  extend  from  north  to  south. 

From   east   to   ruddy  west. 
Its  vastness  holds  within  its  sway 

All  we  love  first  and  best. 

And  yet,  withal,  this  vast  domain 

Has  but  a  single  door 
Whose  portal  opens  once  to  all. 

Then  closes   evermore. 

No  cares  of  life*  no  vain  regrets. 

Invade  its  shadowy  shores. 
No  faithless  friends,  no  treacherous  foes 

Make  shipwreck  of  its  stores. 

No  broken  hearts,  no  withered  leaves 

Of  wasted  lives  are  there. 
No  broken  vows,  no  cruel  thrusts. 

No  insults  to  the  fair. 


BABYLAND  41 

The  hosts  of  earth  were  cradled  there 

In  innocence  and  bliss. 
And  knew  no  word  but  that  of  love 

And  mother's  fervent  kiss. 

Time  swept  them  o*er  the  border-land, 

To  youth,  to  middle  age, 
Adown  the  years  they  hurry  on, 

Pauper,  and  prince,  and  sage. 

And  they  would  give  the  wealth  of  worlds. 

At  three  score  years  and  ten. 
Could  they  roll  back  the  wheels  of  time 

And  be  a  child  again. 

How  do  I  know?»  how  can  I  tell? 

Sweetheart,   tis  truth  age-old 
That  lure  of  this  enchanted  land 

Outweighs  the  lure  of  gold: 

And  men  would  linger  on  its  shores 

To  breathe  its  fragrant  airs. 
And  find  in  sweet  forgetfulness 

Surcease  of  toil  and  cares. 

Alas,  the  wheels  go  on,  and  on! 
Nor  hopes,  nor  prayers  nor  tears, 


42  BABYLAND 

Can  aught  avail  to  stay  the  flight 
Of  onward  rolling  years. 

Too  soon  your  childhood  bark  will  sail 
From  those  dear  shores  way; 

Too  soon  your  golden  hair  will  be 
Threaded  with  silver  grey. 

Then  you  will  stand — ^as  I  do  now — 
With  that  un-numered  band, 

And  watch  the  distant  fading  shores 
Of  rapturous  babyland. 


"NEDDIE"  43 

"NEDDIE" 

(Affectionately  inscribed  to  his  mother.) 

A  sweet  child  stood  by  a  tideless  sea 
That  lapped  the  shores  of  Eternity 

Softly  and  low. 
Life  held  for  him  unnumbered  charms, 
Death  no  vague,   false  alarms 

That  fright  us  so. 

An  angel  beckoned  from  the  Nether  Shore, 
The  baby  slipped  with  noiseless  oar 

Upon  the  stream; 
And  silently  his  frail  bark  sped 
Unto  the  shore,  where  the  baby  dead 

In  whiteness  gleam. 

When  life  for  you  is  a  fading  dream, 
And  your  boat  is  gliding  upon  the  stream 

That  bore  him  hence, 
He  will  wait  for  you,  he  will  hear  your  oar 
When  your  bark  approaches  the  other  shore 

In  penitence. 


44  ANCHORS 

ANCHORS 

Does  fortune  frown? 

Do  friendships  prove  untrue? 
There  is  no  day  so  drear 

But  sunshine  filters  through. 

Is  there  no  light 

On  my  lone  pathway  cast? 
There  is  no  night  so  dark 

But  morning  comes  at  last. 

Am  I  adrift — 

No  chart — 'midst  howling  gale? 
There  is  no  sea  so  broad 

But  whitens  with  a  sail. 

Am  I  astray, 

Almost  beyond  recall? 
**He  counts  the  ocean's  sand; 

He  notes  the  sparrow's  fall." 


SIMIPLICITY  45 


SIMPLICITY 


I  know  not  how  the  daises  grow. 
Nor  how  the  winds  in  summer  blow 

With   soft   caress; 
I  only  know  a  wondrous  plan 
Has  never  failed  since  time  began, 

The  world  to  bless. 

I  know  not  how  the  mirrored  sea 
Is  lashed  to  fury  in  the  glee 

Of   summer   squall; 
I  only  know  that  storm  and  wind 
Are  one  with  the  Eternal  Mind, 

High  over  all. 

I  know  not  how  the  lightning's  spark 
Is  flashed  through  ocean  deep  and  dark 

To   distant   shores; 
I  only  know  that  nature  holds 
Within  her  labyrinthine  folds 

Her  richest  stores. 

I  know  not  how  the  ray  of  light 
Is  sent  to  earth  through  blackest  night 

From   depths   profound; 
I  only  know  the  Master  said 
**Let  there  be  light,**  and  lol  it  sped 

The  world  around. 


46  SIMPLICITY 

I  know  not  how  yon  distant  star 
It  held  upon  its  pathway  far 

*Mid  worlds  unknown; 
I  only  know  through  countless  years 
It  sweeps,  to  music  of  the  spheres. 

Its  trackless  zone. 

I  know  not  why  in  love  divine 

Was  wrought  this  restless  soul  of  mine 

With  dangers  fraught; 
I  only  know  God's  loving  care 
Is   o'er  His  children   everywhere. 

I  am  His  thought. 


BACK  YONDER  47 

BACK  YONDER 

Ah,  well  do  I  remember 

In   the  years  long  since   gone  by 
The  little  school-house  'cross  the  creek, 

The  fringing  forest  nigh: 
In  front  the  dusty  road 

With  fennel  and  sunflowers  lined. 
And  wooded  slopes  and  shady  lanes 

Stretching  away  behind. 

And  just  below  the  little  hill, 

(So  steep  it  seemed  to  me) 
A  crystal  spring  burst  from  the  rock 

Beneath  a  gnarled  tree 
And  crept  away  through  tangled  grass 

In  meadow-lands  to  play. 
Yielding  it's  waters  glad  and  free 

In  the  flowery  month  of  May. 

Sometimes  we  played  at  *  yard  the  sheep," 

Or  '*pom  pom  pullaway," 
Or  **one  old  cat»"  with  ball  and  bat, 

And  our  hearts  were  young  and  gay; 
Sometimes  we  played  at  **civil  war" 


48  BACK  YONDER 

With  sticks  for  sword  and  gun, 
For  the  land  was  a  seething  fire 
In  the  days  of  sixty-one. 

Nor  could  our  little  band  agree 

To  march  beneath  one  flag, 
For  some  hurrahed  for  Scott  and  Grant, 

And  some  for  Lee  and  Bragg; 
But   underneath   each  little   coat 

Beat  an  honest  heart,  and  true; 
Each  thought  himself  a  loyal  son, 

'Twas  the  different  point  of  view. 

Inside  the  little  school-house 

On  benches  made  of  slats 
Were  ranged  the  **future  presidents," 

And  *  wives  of  diplomats** 
Who,  in  after  years  should  build. 

Each  in  his  modest  way. 
Temples  of  life  and  character 

Began  in  that  month  of  May. 

Oh,  there's  never  a  passing  cloud 
But  some  light  shadows  cast; 

And  never  a  youthful  fancy 
But  lives  in  the  hallowed  past; 

Each  went  his  way  from  that  portal. 
How  wide  are  the  paths  apart — 


BACK  YONDER  49 

And  nevermore  will  they  mingle 
Till  they  meet  in  the  Father's  heart. 

Oh  where  are  those  friends  of  my  boyhood! 

Elisabeth,   Susan,    and  Frank, 
Charley,   and   Harve,    and   Erastus, 

And   "Shorty,*'  and   **Fatty"  and   **Hank?" 
Like  wind-scattered  leaves  of  the  autumn 

They  have  fallen,  or  drifted  away;  ; 
Not  one  there  remains  now  to  greet  me 

In  the  fields  where  we  one  used  to  play. 

On  the  farm,  in  the  home,  at  the  counter. 

Wherever  is  fiercest  the  fray. 
Loyally  waging  life's  battle 

Are  the  friends  of  that  glad  summer  day — 
Save  those  who  have  answered  the  school-bell 

That  will  ring  for  us  all  by  and  by. 
But  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  THAT  spring- 
time— 

Just  the  sun,  and  the  blue  of  the  sky. 

So,  here's  to  the  friends  of  those  May  days 
As  backward   fond  memories  wing; 

And  may  no  one  be  absent  or  tardy 

When  the  school-bells  of  Heaven  shall  ring. 


50  THE    CHOICE 

THE  CHOICE 

I  ask  not  wisdom  for  the  world's  acclaim, 

Nor  wealth,   nor     place      exalted,      neither 
praise, 

Or  that  the  sunshine  gladden  all  my  days, 
Nor  that  my  footsteps  lead  to  paths  of  fame. 

Nay !  rather  would  I  seek  the  lowly  ways 

Where  bloom  the  flowers  of  love  and  con- 
stancy, 
Where  I   may  walk,    and   hand   in   hand   with 
Thee 
Climb  surely  upward  through  life's  tangled 


If  ills  o'ertake  me  I  would  not  repine. 

Nor  oft  complain,  nor  falter  by  the  way. 

But  trust  Thy  goodness  e'en  the  clouds  be  grey 
And  to  Thy  keeping  all  my  ways  resign. 

Content  to   follow  wheresoe'er  Thou  lead — 
In  sunlit  paths  or  on  misfortune's  road— • 

If  happ'ly  I  may  lighten  someone's  load 
And  so  reflect  Thyself  in  loving  deed. 


CONQUEST 

CONQUEST 


51 


Out  of  the  winter's  frost  and  gloom 

Come  flowers  of  spring  with  bud  and  bloom, 

Come  velvet  sward  and  rounded  leaf, 
Comes  harvest  with  its  golden  sheaf 

And  clover  with  its  sweet  perfume. 

Out  of  our  sorrows  and  our  fears. 
Out  of  our  anguish  and  our  tears, 

Comes  conquest  over  worldly  strife. 

Come  radiant  hope  and  chastened  life 

To  light  some  soul  adown  the  years. 


52  "I    LIKE    IT    FIRST    RATE" 

"I  LIKE  IT  FIRST  RATE" 

(Last  week  the  mercury  registered  46  de- 
grees below  zero  in  New  York.  Floods  swept 
the  valleys  of  the  middle  west,  and  a  cyclone 
wiped  out  villages  and  homes  in  Alabama.) 

How  glorious  to  live  in  these  ideal  days. 
Where   the   cold     doesn't    kill,     and     the  sun 

doesn't  blaze; 
Where    the    wind    doesn't   rotate   with    death- 
dealing  spite. 
Uprooting  the  forest,  turning  day  into  night. 
Oh,  yes,  I'm  content  at  the  nation's  west  gate 
To  bask  in  the  sunshine — I  like  it  first  rate. 

I  have  no  desire  to  make  tracks  in  the  snow; 
I  was  an  apprentice  at  that  long  ago. 
I've  frozen  my  back  and  blistered  my  face. 
And  thought  I  was  warm  by  the  old  fireplace. 
I've  lugged  in  the  wood  and   thought  it  was 

great. 
But  here  I'm  content! — I  like  it  first  rate. 

I've  heard  the  wild  shriek  of   the   pitiless  blast. 
As  it  swept  the  bleak  fields,   deep  with  snow 

overcast ; 
Heard   it   rattle   the   windows   and   howl   with 
delight 


'*I  LIKE  IT  FIRST  RATE"  53 

As   it   searched   out   the   homsless   that   bitter 

cold  night. 
Ah  yes!  ye  who  like  of  its  beauties  may  prate; 
Out  here  Tm  content — I  like  it  first  rate. 

And   the  glorious  springtime  with  bottomless 

mud, 
When  **The  Beautiful'*  melted,  and  then  came 

the  flood; 
When   it   froze   up    at   night   and   thawed    out 

by  day. 
When    fields   were    awash    and    homes    swept 

away. 
I  thought  it  was  jolly  and  quite  up  to  date; 
But  here  Fm  contented — I  like  it  first  rate. 

I've  seen  the  great  clouds  roll  up  in  the  west. 
Those  death-dealing  funnels  from  Satan's  own 

chest ; 
I've  sought  the  old  cellar,  and  held  down  the 

dooi — 
That  old  cyclone  cellar — I  need  it  no  more. 
It  makes  me  feel  creepy  when  this  I  relate, 
But  now  I'm  content — I  like  it  first  rate. 

And  then  came  the  summer  with  moisture  and 

sun. 
When  the  mercury  staid  up  o*  nights  just  for 

fun; 


54  "I  DIKE  IT  FIRST  RATE" 

When  collars  were  wilting  and  clothes  sticking 

fast; 
When    moments    of   comfort   were   dreams    of 

the  past. 
Those   *'dog  days**   in  August — oh,   say!   they 

were  great; 
But  here  I'm  content — and  I  like  it  first  rate. 

Here  June  and  December  go  by  hand  in  hand, 
With  a   garland   of  blossoms   from   every   fair 

land; 
While    mountain    and    valley    and    ocean    and 

plain 
Take  up  the  glad  song,  and  repeat  the  refrain: 
**Here  is  joy  and  contentment,  and  much  work 

to  do," 
And   I   like   it   first   rate — now,    honest,    don't 

you? 


WHO  IS  MY  FRIEND?  55 

WHO  IS  MY  FRIEND? 

He  is  my  friend,  who  sees  the  Httle  good 
That  in  me  is,  and  grants  a  motive  just; 

And  if  I  falter  his  the  hand  that  would 

Be  reached  to  life  me  with  a  grasp  of  trust; 
He  is  my  friend. 

He  is  my  friend  who  knows  my  faults  and  yet 
Walks  by  my  side  when   other  friends  de- 
part; 
My  grivous  failures  he  would  fain  forget, 
My  virtues  cherish  in  his  inmost  heart; 
He  is  my  friend. 

He  is  my  friend  who  reckoneth  not  the  cost, 

When  on  a  sea  of  trouble  I  am  lost; 
Through    storm    and    surf    he   sees    my   lifted 
hand. 
And  sets  my  feet  upon  the  shining  sand; 
He  is  my  friend. 


56  THE    SHBRiMAN 

THE  SHERMAN 

(U.  S.  transport,  engaged  in  carrying  troops 
to  the  Philippine  Islands  in  the  war  with 
Spain. ) 

Just  out  in  the  stream. 
Where  the  waters  gleam 

In  the  light  of  the  rising  moon, 
A  transport  rides 
On  the  ebbing  tides. 

And  tomorrow  she  sails  at  noon. 

She  sits  like  a  queen 
In  the  silvery  sheen 

Of  the  ripples  that  round  her  play; 
She  tugs  and  strains 
At  her  anchor  chains, 

Impatient  to  be  away. 

Between  her  decks, 
Where  the  water  flecks 

Her  side  with  a  tremulous  ray. 
Sleep  a  thousand  souls. 
Whom  the  good  ship  holds. 

Awaiting  the  coming  day. 

They  have  said  good  bye. 
With  a  tear-dimmed  eye. 


THE   SHERiMAN 


57 


And  a  lingering  grasp  of  hand, 
Till  the  ides  of  fate. 
Through  the  Golden  Gate, 

Bring  them  back  to  their  native  land. 

Oh,  sweet  be  their  sleep, 
While  the  billowy  deep 

Shall  cradle  the  sons  of  the  free  I 
May  the  stars  each  night 
Shine  with  kindly  light 

On  their  voyage  across  the  sea. 

For  at  noon  she  will  ride 
On  the  great  flood  tide. 

By  the  hopes  of  the  nation  blest; 
May  her  skies  be  blue 
And  her  course  be  true, 

As  she  turns  her  prow  to  the  west. 


58  EL  CANBY 

EL  CANEY 

On  EI  Caney,  scarred  with  trenches. 
Troop  the  pale  stars  one  by  one 

O'er   a   sleeping   Spanish  soldier, 
By  his  side  his  trusty  gun. 

Far  from  native  land  and  kindred. 
Yet  the  memory  backward  flies 

To  that  home  beyond  the  ocean, 
'Neath  Hispania's  mellow  skies. 

In  his  boyish  face  are  mirrored 

Dreams  of  mother,  sweetheart's  charms. 
With  a  start  he  hears  the  bugle. 

And  the  shout,   **To  arms!  To  arms!" 

Hark!  From  o'er  the  echoing  mountains. 

Waking  to  the  tints  of  day. 
Comes  a  roar  like  muffled  thunder, 

*Tis  the  challenge  to  the  fray. 

Wake,  ye  slumbering  hills  and  valleys! 

Wake,  ye  echoes  of  the  sea! 
Ye  shall  feel  the  tread  of  freemen 

In  the  cause  of  liberty. 

From  the  fringe  of  tangled  brushwood, 
Cast  in  morning's  shadow-light. 


EL  CANEY  59 

Spring  the  lines  of  noble  Lawton 
Eager,  anxious  for  the  fight. 

Ranks  deploy  in  line  of  battle, 
* 'Forward!**  is  the  rallying  cry — 

Onward  to  the  flaming  block-house. 
On  to  victory,  or  die. 

Swept  the  field  with  shot  and  shrapnel, 
Whistling  ball  and  bursting  shell; 

Yet  the  lines  of  blue  press  onward 
In  a  living,  roaring  hell. 

Men  go  down  like  forest  giants 

*Neath  the  cyclone's  fury  smote, 
That  the  starry  flag  of  freedom 

On  El  Caney*s  heights  shall  float. 

And  the  Spaniard  who  lay  sleeping. 

Wrapped  in  dreamland's  mystic  charms. 

Shall  awake  no  more  to  trumpet 
Calling  him  *To  arms!  To  arms!" 

Gone  his  comrads  of  the  morning; 

Fared  with  them  the  battle  ill; 
And  the  Stars  and  Stripes  are  floating 

From  the  block-house  on  the  hill. 


60  EL  CANEY 

Stilled  the  guns;  no  more  the  batteries 
Thunder  in  the  early  morn, 

And  the  soft  wind  sings  a  requiem 
Over  the  fallen  soldier's  form. 

And  the  scribes  of  coming  ages 
History's  pages  shall  illume 

With  the  fadeless  deeds  of  glory — 
'Grave  them  on  the  silent  tomb 

Of  the  heroes  of  El  Caney, 

Who  their  life-blood  freely  gave, 
That  the  power  of  the  Spaniard 

This  fair  isle  should  not  enslave. 


COMMAND  61 

COMMAND 

Be  thou  no  laggard,  hand  of  mine  I 
Where  there  is  want  to  be  relieved. 

Thou  still  mayest  spare  some  corn  and  wine, 
And  love's  sweet  story  be  achieved. 

Be  strong,  be  brave,  O  heart  of  mine! 

At  life's  clear  fount  thy  strength  renew; 
May  every  joyous  throb  of  thine 

Be  pure  and  good,  be  loyal,  true. 

Hope  thou  eternal,  soul  of  mine! 

Though  *  Veil  of  tears"  thy  vision  bars: 
Hope  is  the  anchor,  faith  the  line 

To  holding  ground  beyond  the  stars. 


62         YESTERDAY,    TODAY,    TOMORROW 

YESTERDAY,  TODAY,  TOMORROW 

The  past  is  gone.     Not  vain  regret 
Can  backward  call  one  priceless  day; 

Nor  can  the  awakened  soul  forget 

The  shipwrecked  hopes  along  the  way. 

Alas  that  memory  weaves  her  chains 
About  the  failures  and  the  stains. 

Today  is  all  that  I  can  claim. 

This  hour,  this  moment,  aye,  this  now 
Is  all  I  am  vouchsafed  to  name 

As  mine.     The  why,  the  whence,  the  how. 
Was  ever  life's  great  mystery. 

And  sometime  I  shall  find  the  key. 

I  know  not  what  tomorrow  hides 
Of  good  or  ill,  of  joy  or  grief. 

But  this  I  know,  whate're  betides 

The  sowing  shall  be  crowned  with  sheaf, 

And  every  tiny  seed  of  love 

Be  garnered  in  the  home  above. 


DRIFTING  AND  BATTLING  63 

DRIFTING  AND  BATTLING 

I  launched  my  boat  upon  the  sea 
And  drifted  with  the  ebbing  tide; 

The  wind  was  fair,  the  course  was  free. 
But  drifting  I  was  not  satisfied. 

A  storm  arose  and  swept  the  main. 
Wild  billows  leapt  o'er  ocean  wide; 

Battling  I  sought  the  port  to  gain. 
And  battling  was   I  satisfied. 


64  IN  DREAMS 

IN  DREAMS 

In  dreams  I  hear  the  bleating 

Of  the  sheep,  just  over  there. 
Or  the  lowing  of  the  cattle 

On  the  quiet  evening  air 
As,  homeward  from  the  grazing 

They  slowly  wend  their  way. 
When  twilight  shadows  lengthen 

And  softly  fades  the  day. 

In  dreams  I  see  the  forest 

When  spring  its  youth  renews. 
Or  autumn  turns  its  verdure 

To  gold  and  crimson  hues; 
In  dreams  I  see  its  beauty 

All  mantled  o'er  with  snow» 
Or  tread  again  its  pathways — 

Pathways  of  long  ago. 

In  dreams  I  hear  the  music 

Of  the  gently-flowing  stream. 
As  its  waters  thread  the  shadow 

Or  in  the  sunlight  gleam; 
In  dreams  I  skim  its  surface. 

Joyous  and   sorrow-free. 
When  biting  cold  has  locked  it 

With  winter's  icy  key. 


IN  DREAMS  65 

In  dreams  I  see  the  homestead, 

Fast  falling  to  decay, 
The  vines  that  clambered  o*er  it 

Gone,   gone  this  many  a  day. 
I  see  the  forms  and  faces 

That  greeted  me  at  dawn. 
But  I  listen  for  a  footfall 

And  a  voice  forever  gone. 

In  dreams  I  see  my  mother — 

The  boy*s  best  friend,  and  true — 
Ere  time  had  dimmed  the  luster 

Of  the  sweet  soul  shining  through; 
I  live  again  the  springtime 

With  shadows  overcast. 
And  hear  a  farewell  wafted 

From  out  the  voiceless  past. 


66  THE   CREATION  OF  MAN 

THE  CREATION  OF  MAN 

Every  intelligent  man  is  a  marvel  to  him- 
self. The  centuries  past  have  been  spent  in 
trying  to  answer  the  question,  **What  is 
man?'*  I  really  know  little  of  myself,  and 
know  less  of  you. — Rev.  Warren  F.  Day,  D. 
D.,  in  an  address  on  **The  Creation  of  Man," 
at  Pasadena. 

Yon  purple  hills  that  pale  and  glow. 
The  ever-restless  ebb  and  flow 
Of  tides  that  beat  the  arching  shore 
And  croon  sweet  music  evermore. 
The  lily  lifting  up  and  up 

On  graceful  stem  its  snowy  cup» 
The  wonders  of  the  stars  that  keep 
Their  faithful  vigils  while  we  sleep. 
The  world  with  all  its  smiles  and  tears. 
The  import  of  the  untried  years 
Were  printed  pages  on  my  shelf 
Did  I  but  comprehend  myself. 


A  WAYiSiPE  FLOW;ER  67 

A  WAYSIDE  FLOWER 

A  flower  there  bloomed  by  the  wide  highway. 
But  none  gave  heed  as  they  onward  rushed, 

it  bloomed  for  a  night  and  a  summer  day 
Then  the  grinding  wheels  it's  petals  crushed. 

But  one  there  came  who  lingered  there 
Lured  by  a  strange  and  mystic  spell, 

For  a  wondrous  fragrance  was  in  the  air 
Like  rare  perfume  from  a  heather-bell. 

So,  as  we  journey  the  wide  world  o'er 
Facing  the  issues  of  each  new  day. 

We  may  find  the  dross,  or  the  richest  ore. 
In  the  dust  and  grime  of  the  world's  high- 
way. 

Friendships  there  be  that  are  born  of  years 
And  are  trampled  upon  by  heedless  men. 

Though    crushed    with    the      weight  of  bitter 
tears. 
Like  the   flower's  perfume    they    will    rise 

again. 


68  THE  SUNSHINE  WiA.Y 

THE  SUNSHINE  WAY 

They  say  the  world  is  sad  and  drear; 
A  stormy  way  devoid  of  cheer; 
For  every  smile  there  is  a  tear 
And  more  of  ill  than  good. 

Oh!  they  do  teach  a  gospel  wrong 
Who  take  from  life  its  laugh,  its  song, 
For  joy  helps  roll  the  world  along 
If  we  but  understand. 

Think  you  that  He  who  **spoke"  the  world, 
The  planets  in  their  orbits  hurl'd. 
The  banners  of  the  night  unfurl* d, 
Could  frame  a  world  of  woe? 

Man's  soul  refuses  to  be  led 
Among  the  sodden  leaves  and  dead; 
The  blooming  highways  it  would  tread, 
And  in  their  fragrance  grow. 


THE  NORTHER  69 

THE  NORTHER 

When  the  first  rays  of  morning  illumined  the 
west 

And  night  fled  away  at  the  Day  King's  behest, 

It  came  through  the  passes,  o*er  mountain  di- 
vides 

Like  an  old-fashioned  blizzard  when  Boreas 
rides. 

Quick  it  mantled  the  west  with  a  great  sable 

shroud, 
Shutting  out  the  warm  sun  like  a  storm-driven 

cloud. 
Mounting  higher  and  higher  with  each  rising 

gust, 
Enguilfing  the  valley  'neath  billows  of  dust. 

Through  orchard  and  hamlet  it  sped  on  its  way. 
To  the  farmer  and  tenderfoot  bringing  dismay. 
Bent  the  tall  eucalyptus  like  full  ripened  grain; 
Smote  the  orange  and  lemon — left  wreck  in 
its   train. 

V         •♦•         •5p         V 


70 


THE  NORTHER 


When  the  fast-fading  twilight  shown  red  in  the 
west, 

And  the  sun*s  level  rays  lit  the  gray  mountain 
crest. 

Peace  crept  from  the  shadows,  and  stole  o'er 
the  lea. 

And  the  Storm  King  was  lost  in  the  tempest- 
tossed  sea. 


IN  HIS  REMEMBRANCE  71 

IN  HIS  REMEMBRANCE 

Oh,  sailor  on  Life's  ocean! 
Are  you  buffeted  and  tost? 
Do  the  waves  sometimes  overwhelm  you? 

Is  the  star  of  promise  lost? 
Oh,  remember  how  the  Master 

Spake  and  stilled  the  stormy  sea; 
And  with  faith  sublime — all  conquering. 

From  defeat  wrought  victory. 

Have  the  storms  of  many  winters 

Woven  silver  in  your  hair? 
Oh,  remember  how  'tis  written 

That  '*Our  Father  hath  a  care 
For  the  lily  in  the  valley, 

And  the  flocks  upon  the  plain; 
How  He  crowneth  them  with  blessing 

In  the  sunshine  and  the  rain." 

He  clothes  the  hills  with  verdure, 

He  paints  the  autumn  hues, 
He  bringeth  forth  the  seed  time 

And  watereth  with  His  dews; 
He  notes  the  falling  sparrow. 

Tempers  to  the  lamb  the  breeze, 
Thou  shalt  be  in  His  remembrance. 

Art  thou  not  more  than  these? 


72  FORGET,  FORGET  IT  NOT 

FORGET,  FORGET  IT  NOT 

Does  your  load  unequal  seem?  Forget  it; 

Life  is  never  what  you  dream,  Don't  forget  it; 
From  the  king  upon  the  throne 
To  the  tramp  who  dies  alone. 
All  have  troubles  of  their  own, 
Don't  forget  it. 

Has  the  world  been  harsh — unkind?  Forget  it: 
Ten-to-one,  its  in  your  mind.  Don't  forget  it; 
Never   heed    what    others    do» 
What  you  are  is  up   to   YOU  I 
No  one  else  will  pull  you  through. 
Don't  forget  it. 

Do  you  know  another's  fault?  Forget  it: 
Given  wings  'twill  never  halt.  Don't  forget  it; 
Just  a  careless  word  may  start 
Shafts  that  bear  a  poison  dart 
To  find  lodgement  in  some  heart. 
Don't  forget  it. 

Are  you  idling  in  the  NOW?  Forget  it: 
Harvest  follows  seed  and  plow.  Don't  forget  it: 
Nothing  care  for  musty  creeds, 
EVERYTHING  for  loving  deeds. 
Better  harvest  wheat  than  weeds. 
Don't  forget  it. 


THE  CALL  OF  THE   HILLS  73 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  HILLS 

The  voices  call  so  loud  today 

To  God's  green  hills;  and  far  away 

Where  tumbling  waters  flash  and  gleam 
I  fain  would  go  and,  waking,  dream — 
But  hark!  the  voices  seem  to  say. 
Why  dost  thou  stay?  'Tis  May,  'tis  May. 

Dost  know  the  fields  are  all  aglow? 

The  rugged  heights — the  vales  below 
Are  garbed  in  nature's  vivid  green, 
Starred  with  the  poppies'  gorgeous  sheen; 

And  yet  thou  comest  not.     I  trow 

Thou  dost  not  know,  thou  dost  not  know. 

Dost  hear  the  fir  trees'  lullaby? 

The  hum  of  wild  bees  winging  high? 
Dost  see  **The  candles  of  the  Lord" 
Aflame  on  hill  and  grassy  sward? 

Dost  hear  the  nature-voices  cry 

Why  lingerest  thou?  Oh  why;  Oh  why! 

Voice  of  the  hills,  be  still!  Be  still! 

Thy  calling  all  my  senses  thrill. 

Fain  would  I  fly  and  find  surcease 
From  care;   from  trouble,   sweet  release; 

And  from  thy  fountain  drink  my  fill — 

Ah!  say  no  more,  I  will!  I  will! 


74  THE  SONG  IN  THE  HEART 

THE  SONG  IN  THE  HEART 

I  may  toil  among  the  weavers  and  only  hear 

the  loom; 
I    may   walk    amidst    the    gardens    and    never 

smell  their  bloom; 
I  may  dwell  upon  the  mountain  and  never  hear 

the  song 
Of  the  wind  among  the  branches  as  it  croons 

its  way  along. 

I  may  front  the  swelling  ocean  and  never  feel 

the  throb 
Of  its  great  heart,  ever  beating,  nor  hear  the 

moan  and  sob 
Of  the  wavelets  softly  lapping  upon  the  sedgy 

dune, 
Nor  can  I  catch  the  music  if  the  heart  is  out  of 

tune. 

I  may  dwell  among  the  toilers  and  hear  a  glad- 
some song 

That  will  lighten  someone's  burden  the  way  of 
life  along; 


THE  SONG  IN  THE  HEART  75 

I  may  pluck  the  sweetest  blossoms   from  the 

fenland  and  the  moor, 
I  may  hear  the  voice  of  angels  in  the  hamlets 

of  the  poor; 

I  may  face  the  hot,  gray  desert  and  see  in  every 

clod. 
And  in  its  weird  mirages,  the  imagery  of  God. 
I  may  dwell  within  the  city  beside  the  roaring 

mart. 
And  hear  the  sweetest  music,  if  the  song  is  in 

the  heart. 


76  DAYS  OF  JUNE 

DAYS  OF  JUNE 

Oh !  days  of  June  that  steal  away  my  heart 
And  make  me  vassal  to  thy  wanton  ways, 

Oh!  hills  of  glory  veiled  in  purple  haze 

How   dost   thou   woo    me   from    the   world 
apart. 

Oh!  rapturous  days  that  hold  within  thy  thrall 
The   billowy   fields — the   bursting   bud    and 
flower, 

The  morn  of  splendor  and  the  twilight  hour. 
And  cloudless  skies  of  sapphire  over  all. 

Oh  I  halcyon  days  when  youth  looks  out  to  sea. 
And  clouds  and  storms  are  far,  so  far,  away. 
When  only  Time  and  distant  shores  are  grey, 
God  grant  these  days  for  aye  to  you  and  me. 


UOVE  SUPREME  77 

LOVE  SUPREME 

Could  I  the  power  of  growth  discern 

That  in  the  acorn  sleeps. 
Or  backward  to  the  ocean  turn 

The  tide  that  inward  creeps. 
Or  could  I  solve  the  mystery 

Of  earth  and  air  and  sky. 
Or  read  the  unwrit  history 

Of  the  unlived  by  and  by. 
Or  comprehend  the  human  soul 

And  know  its  destiny 
When  suns  and  worlds  have  ceased  to  roll 

And  time  no  more  shall  be, 
*Twere  nothing  at  the  Great  White  Throne 

Where  I  must  stand  or  fall. 
One  little  act  of  love  alone 

Outweighs,  outshines  them  all. 


m^m 


78  IN  SUNSHINE  AND   STORM 

IN  SUNSHINE  AND  STORM 

(Respectfully    dedicated      to    William      Penn 
Rogers. ) 

Mr.  Rogers,  an  excentric  bachelor,  came  to 
Highland,  from  N.  Y.  City,  about  1 883,  and 
for  twenty-five  years  lived  in  >  a  cabin  on 
Highland  Avenue.  He  was  a  brilliant  writer* 
a  forceful  public  speaker.  Vindictive  and  bitter 
in  debate,  he  was  a  dreaded  opponent  in  lo- 
cal and  county  politics.  He  was  our  friend 
and  literary  critic,  and  to  him  more  than  any 
one  person  we  are  indebted  for  constant  en- 
couragement along  our  stumbling  way.  He 
died  in  a  neighboring  city  some  years  after 
the  publication  of  this  little  tribute.  Partic- 
ularly appropos  of  his  lonely  life  are  the  two 
last    stanzas. 

Ah  happy  the  life  of  the  jolly  old  Bach 
When  the  sky  is  all  sunshine  and  blue; 

In  a  cottage  with  roses  and  vines  for  a  thatch 
For  a  wife  he  would  give — not  a  sou. 

The   winds   blow   as   soft   at    the   casement    1 
ween — 
More  sweetly  the  birds  could  not  sing — 


IN   SUNSHINE  AND   STORM  79 

If  the  vine-covered   cot  sheltered  princess  or 
queen. 
Instead  of  a  bachelor  king. 

With    Shakespeare,    and    Balzac,    and    Dumas 
for  friends 
Who  will  quietly  lie  on  the  shelf. 
And    the    * 'Morning    Bazoo"    telling   how   the 
world  trends 
In  its  onrushing  madness  for  pelf. 

And  none  to  complain  if  he  brings  in  the  dirt 
Or  throws  his  old  hat  on  the  floor, 

No  sensitive  being  with  feelings  to  hurt 
If  he  sighs  for  the  freedom  of  yore. 

No  dresses,  no  bonets,  no  ribbons  to  buy. 

No  jewels  of  silver  and  gold. 
No  ripples  of  laughter  and  no  one  to  cry 

In  a  jolly  old  bachelor  fold. 

No  voices  of  children  at  play  at  the  door 
To  disturb  his  repose  with  their  noise, 

No  carpet  but  dust  on  the  echoing  floor 
Where  the  bachelor  lives  with  his  joys. 


80  IN  SUNSHINE   AND   STORM 

But  oh  I  when  the  clouds  gather  dark  in  the 
west; 
When  friendships  are  broken  and  dead; 
When    riches    have     flown — only  troubles  at 
best — 
When  illness  stands  hard  by  the  bed; 

When  faltering  steps  life's  winter  attest; 

When  the  rose-hue  is  gone  from  above; 
How  lonely  the  life  in  a  cottage  unblest 

By  the  wealth  of  a  woman's  true  love! 

More  than  rubies,  or  diamonds,  or  scepter  or 
throne* 

More  than  palaces  stately  and  grand, 
Is  the  sound  of  a  voice  to  a  heart  sad  and  lone 

And  the  clasp  of  a  strong  loving  hand. 


THE  BABY  81 

THE  BABY 

Dedicated  to  Edwin  Blair. 

Who  makes  a  stairway  of  your  toes? 

The  baby: 
Who  musses  all  your  Sunday  clothes? 

The  baby: 
Who  pulls  your  hair  and  twists  your  nose. 
The  while  he  jumps,  and  laughs  and  crows? 

The  baby. 

Who  thinks  of  funny  things  galore? 

The  baby: 
Yet  never,  never  is  a  bore, 

The  baby: 
Who,  toddling  there  upon  the  floor. 
Just  makes  you  love  him  more  and  more? 

The  baby. 

Whose  every  absence  makes  you  start? 

The  baby: 
Who  of  yourself  is  very  part? 

The  baby: 
Who  rules  you  with  despotic  art. 
The  while  he  steals  away  your  heart? 

The  baby. 


82        AUTUMN   'BACK   THAR'   AND   HERE 

AUTUMN  'BACK  THAR*  AND  HERE 

Oh  frosty  is  the  morning. 

Like  diamond-dust  the  sod, 
Across  the  rolling  praire 

Gleams  bright  the  Golden-rod;  ; 
Aflame  are  all  the  woodlands. 

The  smoke  is  on  the  fell. 
And  swallows  homeward  flying 

Bid  Summer  days  farewell. 

In  these  first  sweet  days  of  autumn  how  our 
hearts  go  back  to  the  old  days  and  scenes 
around  which  cling  the  exaggerated  dreams  of 
youth.  Never  were  there  days  so  fair.  Never 
were  there  skies  so  blue;  never  such  gorgeous 
coloring;  never  such  heights,  such  distances; — 
but  that  was  in  the  long  ago. 

Go  back  with  me  today  to  far-away  New 
England.  It  is  the  middle  of  October.  The 
maple  leaves  are  putting  on  the  richest  of 
tints.  The  fisherman,  off  shore,  keeps  half- 
reefed  his  bellying  sail  lest  a  capricious  wind 
catch  him  unawares.  The  apples  have  gath- 
ered all  the  color  and  fragrance  of  the  too- 
short  season,  and  in  the  moaning  wind  the 
husbandman  hears  the  first  plaintive  note  of 
the  decadent  summer. 

From    the   Mississippi   to    the   banks   of   the 


AUTUMN  'BACK   THAR'   AND   HERE        83 

Hudson  and  from  the  great  lakes  to  the  gulf, 
comes  the  faint  haze  of  Indian  summer.  The 
corn  is  ripening  for  the  harvest,  and  the  pump- 
kins are  gleaming  yellow  between  the  rows. 

The  paw-paws — yellow  as  Tucsan  gold,  and 
fragrant  as  apples  of  Eden — are  falling  in  deep 
beds  of  crimson  and  yellow  leaves.  The 
chestnut  burs  are  beginning  to  open.  Occa- 
sionally a  walnut  or  a  hickory  nut  comes 
tumbling  down,  and  the  squirrels  are  storing 
their  winter  quarters. 

With  every  fitful  gust  the  sassafras,  sumac 
and  oaks  are  sending  down  a  shower  of 
leaves  radiant  in  colors  a  De  Longprey  might 
envy.  Migratory  birds  are  chirping  a  fare- 
well to  summer  haunts,  and  from  high  above 
come  the  notes  of  wild  geese,  fleeing  in  V 
shaped  column  from  the  Canada  lakes  to  the 
everglades  of  the  gulf. 

Along  the  back-bone  of  the  continent, 
where  gray  mountains  rear  their  summits  to 
everlasting  snows,  the  skirmishers  of  winter 
are  already  deploying. 

On  the  great  plains — the  once  '*wild  and 
wooly  west** — the  stockmen  are  rounding  up 
their  herds  from  widely  scattered  ranges, 
guiding  them  toward  the  wooded  streams 
and    sheltered   valleys. 


84        AUTUMN   'BACK   THAR'   AND   HERE 

In  the  far  northwest  the  rainy  season  has  al- 
ready begun.  The  water-logged  denizen 
grows  more  wed-footed  with  the  years,  and 
daily  renews  his  allegiance  to  the  god  of  rain. 

And  what  of  us  in  this  dreamland  of  the 
south?  Who  can  tell  by  aught  the  senses 
grasp,  when  summer  ends  and  autumn  begins, 
or  when  it  drifts  all  unknowingly  into  winter? 
The  same  birds  sing  at  the  door;  the  same 
roses  bloom  in  the  sunshine;  the  same  bright 
colors  are  everywhere. 

Here  is  the  land  of  milk  and  honey;  (there 
may  be  others)  the  land  of  the  Padres  and  the 
missions  they  founded — the  civilization  they 
planted.  Here  is  a  land  of  great  activities  and 
accomplishments;  a  land  said  by  travelers  to 
surpass  in  the  developments  of  its  rural  life, 
anything  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  America, 
or  in  Europe.  A  land  where,  on  this  mid- 
autumn  day,  just  to  live  is  joy  incomparable. 


TALK   SUNSHINE  85 

TALK  SUNSHINE 


In  the  shop  or  in  the  home. 

Talk  sunshine: 
Whereso'er  you  chance  to  roam, 

Talk  sunshine: 
Just  a  cheery  word  and  smile 
Helps  to  shorten  many  a  mile. 
So,  while  here  you  bide  awhile* 

Talk  sunshine. 

Gloomy  days  will  come,  be  sure. 

Talk  sunshine: 
You  can  neither  make  nor  cure. 

Talk  sunshine: 
So  shall  some  refracted  ray 
Gladden  each  o'ershadowed  day. 
And  drive  some  one's  cloud  away. 

Talk  sunshine. 

When  the  times  are  looking  blue. 

Talk  sunshine: 
Things  will  quickly  change  if  you 

Talk  sunshine: 
If  you're  up  against  hard  luck. 
Sand  the  rail  and  show  your  pluck- 
Never  be  a  dying  duck. 

Talk  sunshine. 


86  ALL  FOR  COLUMBIA 

ALL  FOR  COLUMBIA 

(July  4,  1909) 

Blow  damp  ye  winds  from  out  the  redening 
west, 
And  as  ye  blow  drink  deeply  from  the  sea, 
And   pour    the   draught   upon   the   mountain's 
breast. 
And  strew  with  blossoms  all  the  dust-brown 
lee. 

Blow  kindly  winds  from  out  the  hostile  north, 
And  as  ye  blow  lull  winter  into  sleep. 

And  bind  him  captive  that  he  come  not  forth 
His  vengance  on  Columbia  to  reap. 

Blow  glad  ye  winds  from  out  the  sun-kissed 
east. 
And  herald  forth  the  coming  of  the  king 
Whose  chariot  is  the  cloud,  who  spreads  the 
feast 
Of  fruits  and  flowers  in  the  glad  new  spring. 

Blow  soft  ye  winds  from  sea-girt  isles  of  spice» 
Where  untaught  lovers  plight  the  world  old 
vow. 

And  bring,  as  gift,  thy  riches  beyond  price 
To  weave  a  garland  for  Columbia's  brow. 


AliL  FOR  COLUMBIA  87 

Blow  cool  ye  winds  from  darkest  ocean  caves, 
And  bring  to  her  the  music  of  the  deep, 

The  croon  and  ripple  of  the  laughing  waves. 
The   crash   of   breakers   in   their   shoreward 
sweep. 

Blow  brave  ye   winds   from   every   peak   and 
crag 
Where   proudly   flies    **the    emblem    of   the 
free,*' 
And  waft  afar  the  blessings  of  the  flag 

Whose  stars  were  forged  in  fires  of  liberty. 

Blow  loyal  winds  from  out  of  the  vast  domain 
Where    sweep    the   worlds    and    dwell    the 
Powers  Sublime; 
Waft,  waft,  Columbia  to  a  richer  gain. 

And  guide  her  through  the  rocks  and  shoals 
of  time. 

Blow   Heavenly   winds   from   out   the   Eternal 
Trone ; 

Columbia  thou  art  loved  on  land  and  sea! 
The  God  of  nations,  Yea,  and  He  alone 

Is  leading  on,  and  shapes  thy  destiny. 


88  THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

It  was  hidden  'neath  the  branches  of  a  friendly 

willow  tree 
Where  the  shadows  lingered  longest  when  the 

sun  had  kissed  the  lea. 
Where  the   white      pond-lilies      lifted      to   the 

breeze  a  snowy  bowl, 
A  rendezvous  for  all  the  boys  was  the  dear  old 

swimming  hole. 

When  the  fields  were  starred  with  daises  and 
the  violets  were  blue 

On  tjie  sunny  southern  hill  sides,  and  the  swal- 
lows northward  flew. 

How  the  longing  footsteps  wandered,  always 
toward  a  common  goal. 

And  all  the  *'roads  that  led  to  Rome"  were 
paths  to   the  swimming  hole. 

No  matter  how  the  paths  diverged,   if  north, 

or  east,  or  west, 
Somehow    they    ended    at    the    spot    the   boys 

loved  first  and  best; 
For  as  the  subtle  forces  draw  the  needle  to  the 

pole, 
So  something  drew  the  bare  brown  feet  to  the 

dear  old  swimming  hole. 


THE   OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE  89 

Small    matter    how    they    faithful    seemed    at 

tasks   that  Father  set. 
When   they  came   home   at  supper-time   their 

heads  were  always  wet: 
And  sympathic  Mother,  dear  (Heaven  keep  in 

peace  her  soul). 
She  thought  'twas  sweat  of  honest  toil  when 

*twas  just  the  swimming  hole. 

And  when  the  swallows  homeward  flew,  and 

autumn  winds  were  cold. 
And  sassafras  and  maple  leaves  had  turned  to 

brown  and  gold, 
*Twas  funny  how  the  boys  would  meet — out 

for  a  farewell  stroll — 
And  break  the  fringe  of  ice    (Wow  I  Wow  I) 

in  the  dear  old  swimming  hole. 

But  the  seasons  will  not  tarry,  and  the  years 

will  not  abide. 
And  the  boys  are  burden-bearers  somewhere 

on  life's  flowing  tide; 
Yet  the  fondest  recollections  as  the  years  they 

onward   roll, 
Cling  round  the  gnarled  willow,  and  the  dear 

old  swimming  hole. 


90  THE  GLORY  OF  WINTER 

THE  GLORY  OF  WINTER 

(Under  this  title  Mr.  S.  E.  Kiser,  a  well- 
known  writer  of  popular  verse,  contributed  the 
following  to  the  Chicago  Record-Herald  in 
1909.  The  poem  came  to  the  attention  of 
Mr.  Frazer  who  replied  with  the  treo  of  verses 
printed  on  the  opposite  page.  The  Record- 
Herald  re-published  Mr.  Kiser's  poem  in  par- 
allel column  with  that  of  Mr.  Frazer,  with  con- 
siderable humorous  comment.  Of  course,  Mr. 
Frazer* s  reply  would  be  meaningless  without 
the  Kiser  poem  in  juxtaposition,  hence  its  ap- 
pearance here.) 

I  love  to  hear  the  bellow  of  the  blest; 

I  love  to  hear  the  creaking  of  the  wheels; 
I  love  to  see  the  snow  go  drifting  past, 

I  love  to  watch  the  ladies  in  their  **seals;'' 
I  love  to  watch  the  raging  of  the  storm 

When  it*s  just  as  icy  here  as  at  the  pole — 
I  love  these  things  when  Tm  inside  and  warm, 

And  someone  else  is  paying  for  the  coal. 

I  love  the  winter  season  best  of  all; 

In  summer  time  I'm  often  filled  with  cheer; 
Fm  gladdened  in  the  springtime  and  the  fall. 

But  winter  is  the  best  time  of  the  year; 
I  love  it  when  the  desolution's  wide. 


THE  GLORY  OF  WINTEiR  91 

When  the  laden  clouds  above  the  landscape 
roll— 
If  I  posses  a  warm,  soft  seat  inside. 

And  someone  else  is  paying  for  the  coal. 

Fm  happy  when  the  pipes  begin  to  freeze, 

When   dogs  stand   whining      sadly      at   the 
doors; 
When  people  turn  their  collars  up  and  sneeze. 

When  the  Storm  King  with  unbridled  anger 
roars ; 
I'm  happy  when  the  squirrel  and  his  mate 

Have  taken  refuge  in  some  gloomy  hole — 
If  I  can  sit  before  a  cheerful  grate 

And  someone  else  is  paying  for  the  coal. 


"THE  GLORY  OF  WINTER"  (?) 

(A  reply  to  S.  E.  Kiser.) 

**I  love  to  hear  the  bellow  of  the  blast 

When  it  is  eighteen  hundred  miles  away, 
I  love  to  see  the  sky  all  over-cast 

Above  the  gleaming  ice  of  Baffin's  Bay. 
I  love  the  storm,  the  ever-present  snow. 

And  envy  much  the  weary  shut-in  soul, 
If  I  may  stay  where  yellow  poppies  blow 

I'll  gladly  pay  for  S.  E.  Kiser's  coal. 


92  "THE  GLORY  OP  WINTER''  (?) 

**I  love  the  winter  season  best  of  all" — 

*Tis  then   I   have   **the   grip"    most  all   the 
time — 
And  shivers  round  my  body  creep  and  crawl, 

And  joy  of  freezing  truly  seems  sublime. 
I  love  the  frost  that  weaves  as  on  a  loom 

Fantastic  shadows  strangely  weird  and  droll; 
If  I  may  stay  where  red  carnations  bloom, 

ril  gladly  pay  for  S.  E.  Kiser  s  coal. 

"Fm  happy  when  the  pipes  begin  to  freeze," 

When  plumbers  stand  around  and  jaw  and 
cuss, 
When  snuggled  in  the  bob-sled  1  can  squeeze 

The  **only  girl,"  and  no  one  make  a  fuss. 
I'm  happy  when  the  billows  crash  and  boom. 

And  storms  athwart  the  Windy  city  roll, 
If  I  may  stay  where  roses  always  bloom, 

ril  gladly  pay  for  S.  E.  Kiser's  coal. 


MY  SHIPS  AT  SEA  93 

MY  SHIPS  AT  SEA 

Over  the  seas  and  far  away 

My  ships  went  sailing  one  summer  day, 
With  sails  all  set  and  cordage  tight 

They   sailed,    and   sailed   and   were   lost   to 
sight. 

And  one  went  east,  and  one  went  west. 
By  the  vagrant  summer  winds  caressed. 

And  one  went  south  and  one  went  north. 
In  search  of  treasures  I  sent  them  forth. 

I  sent  them  forth  with  gleaming  sails. 
To  breast  the  seas,  outride  the  gales. 

With  scarce  a  thought  but  all  would  be 
Borne  treasure-laden  home  to  me. 

But  waiting — Oh  the  laggard  years! 

Pregnant  with  hope,  beset  with  fears; 
For  no  one  spoke  my  ships  at  sea 

Nor  word  of  comfort  brought  to  me. 

At  last,  when  wind  and  tide  were  fair 
There  drifted  from  out  the  everywhere 

A  ship  as  old  as  the  ages  be — 

The  ship  of  fate  with  news  for  me. 


94  MY    SHIPS    AT    SEA 

O,  the  old,  old  story,  oft,  oft  told! 

Of  the  ships  that  sail  for  the  lure  of  gold ; 
The  rock,   the  shoal,   the  unknown  shore, 

And  all  our  gilded  dreams  are  o'er. 

One  ship  was  lost  on  Delusion  reef 
Where  many  a  sail  has  come  to  grief. 

Fleeing  the  wind  and  the  driving  rain. 
She  was  laden  deep  for  my  sordid  gain. 

One  was  driving  o'er  star-lit  seas 

With  all  sails  bellying  in  the  breeze; 

In  larboard  watch  a  cry  of,  fire! 

And  she  was  freighted  with  heart's  desire. 

One  was  sailing  a  rock-bound  shore 

Strewn  with  the  wrecks  that  had  gone  be- 
fore. 

And  she  was  lost  in  the  awful  stress 

Of  the  waves  on  the  rock  of  selfishness. 

And  this  was  all  the  skipper  knew 

Of  my  ships  that  sailed  under  skies  of  blue; 
But  out  of  the  seething,  throbbing  sea 

One  ship  sailed  on,  and  on  for  me, 

Searching  each  shore  and  distant  isle 

For  something  that  should     be     worth     the 
while. 


MY    SHIPS    AT    SEA  95 

When  lure  of  gold  and  whelming  sea 
Were  lost  in  God's  eternity. 

And  this  staunch  ship  brought  home  at  last 

The  things  worth  while  from  my  poor  past; 
And  the  TREASURE  of  three  score  years  and 
ten 
WAS  JUST  THE  GOOD  I  HAD  DONE 
MEN. 


96  OFF   GUARD 

OFF  GUARD 

(From  an  old  prose  fable,  author  unknown.) 

A  camel  came  unto  my  humble  cot 

And  thrust  his  head  within  the  open  door, 

Altho  I  bade  him  go  he  heeded  not 

But  crowded  ever  inward  more  and  more. 

For  love  of  home  despairingly  I  fought. 
But    nought    cduld    1   (avail    'gainst    brutish 
might; 
He  soon  possessed  the  cottage  I  had  wrought 
And  I  was  thrust  into  the  friendless  night. 
•*•      flt*      V      v 

Into  my  life  an  evil  habit  crept, 
Ol  just  a  little  sin  I  thought  not  ill. 

It  stole  within  while  I  slight  vigil  kept 
And  cast  a  web  about  my  plastic  will. 

Each  day  the  web     was     strengthened  by  a 

thread. 

Each  day  the  cruel  monster  gained  control 

Till   conscience   slept — and    then   at   last   was 

dead, 

O  GOD  I  that  little  sin  possessed  my  soul. 


JUST    TODAY  97 

JUST  TODAY 

No  more  the  past;  its  written  page 

Is  stained  with   faults  and  vain  regret; 

The  while  the  present  I  engage. 

And  yet,  I  cannot  quite  forget. 

Alas,  that  memory  holds  so  dear 

The  failures  of  the  yester  year  I 

The  Now  is  mine;  Oh,  priceless  day  I 
Let  met  to  all  the  world  be  true; 
Nor  sit  and  dream  the  hours  away 
While  there  is  time  and  strength  to  do. 
The  hope  one  kindly  deed  begets 
Is  worth  an  ocean  of  regrets. 

I  know  not  what  the  morrow  hides. 
Perhaps  a  smile,  perchance  a  sigh; 
But  this  I  know,  that  naught  abides 
Save  God,  and  Heaven,  and  truth:  and  I, 
If  I  would  help  the  world  along. 
Must  go  TOE) AY  and  bear  a  song. 


98  TOWSER'iS    LAMENT 

TOWSER'S  LAMENT 

My   folks  are  camping  at  the  coast. 

They  like  the  salt  sea-fog; 
And  for  the  next  two  weeks,  a' most, 

I'm  anybody's  dog. 

They-ve  gone  to  hunt  for  clams  and  kelp, 
Where  such  vile  stuffs  abound. 

And  me?      Well,  I  can  sit  and  yelp 
And  fatten  on  the  sound. 

Last  night  I  saw  the  milkman  pass; 

He  looked  at  me  with  scorn; 
I  sat  me  down  upon  the  grass 

Hungry,  alone,  forlorne. 

Today  I  heard  the  butcher's  cart 
Down  at  the  neighbor's  gate; 

Oh,  how  the  hunger  pains  did  start 
That  only  food  can  sate! 

And  if  my  folks  would  come  home  quick 

This  dog  would  not  demur, 
For  everybody  likes  to  kick 
A  homeless,  hungry  cur. 

The  future  makes  my  poor  heart  quail 

As  I  think  this  monologue; 
For  I'd  rather  be  a  tramp  in  jail 

Than  a  hungry,   homeless  dog! 


PATCHING    THE    HIGHWAYS  99 

PATCHING  THE  HIGHWAYS 

Tune,  Marching  Through  Georgia 
(Published  in    1913,   and  used  as  a  boster 
song  in  the  good  roads  campaign  of  that  year. 
Later  is  was  used  in  the  same  way  by  other 
counties  in  similar  campaigns.) 

Listen  to  our  story  while  we  tell  you,  neigh- 
bors dear. 
How  we  spend  two  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars every  year. 
Hauling  sand  and  gravel  and  some  oil  to  on 
them  smear 
While  we  are  patching  the  highways. 

Chorus 
Hurrah  I  hurrah!  we'll     join     the     booster 

throng, 
Hurrah!  hurrah!  we'll  sing  the  booster  song. 
Or  do  most  any  other  thing  to  help  the  cause 

along 
While  we  are  boosting  for  highways. 

Every  year  we  do  it  just  as  if  we  had  a  mine, 
Every   year   we   scratch   the   roads   and    think 

they  will  be  fine. 
All  the  time  we're  scolding  at  **the  Board," 

and  Chairman  Pine 
While  they  are  patching  the  highways. 
Chorus 


100  PATCHING    THE    HIGHWAYS 

O,  my  friends  we're  far  behind  upon  progres- 
sion track; 

We   are   running   in   **the  low*'    there's   some- 
thing out  of  whack. 

Other  counties  pass  us  by  and  kick  us  in  the 
back 

While  we  are  patching  the  highways. 
Chorus 

Don't  you  know  Los  Angeles,  and  San  Diego 

too. 
Even    Orange   County   and   Ventura   by    "the 

blue" 
Have  us  beaten  forty  miles,  and  now  its  up  to 

you 
If  we  shall  fail  on  the  highways. 
Chorus 

Let  us  get  together,  folks,  and  stop  this  argu- 
ment. 

Let  us  build  some  better  roads  of  gravel  and 
cement. 

Let  us  vote  the  bonds  and  get  **the  mon"  at 
five   percent 

While  we  are  patching  the  highways. 
Chorus 


THAT    WORLD-WIDE    PEiAiCE  101 

THAT  WORLD-WIDE  PEACE 

(Published  in  Los  Angeles  Times  four  days 
before  Germany  scratched  the  match  that 
*'£et  the  slumberous  world  on  fire.'*) 

A  few  short  years  ago  'twas  said, 
**The  world's  at  peace  and  Mars  is  dead; 
No  more  shall  cruel  war's  alarms 
Affright  our  souls  with  call  to  arms. 
Our  dreadnaughts  we  will  change  to  yachts, 
Our  camps  to  city  breathing-spots. 
Swords  will  be  bent  to  pruning  hooks. 
And  spears  to  useful  shepherd's  crooks. 
We'll  bid  farewell  to  Krupp  and  Craig 
And  fight  our  battles  at  The  Hague. 
Thus,  anyone  with  wit  may  see 
All  men  shall  dwell  in  harmony." 

Boom!     Bang!     Alas,  while  good  men  plan, 
Some  traitor  with  a  powder  can 
May  scratch  a  match,  or  cross  a  wire. 
And  set  the  slumberous  world  on  fire. 

A  shot  sent  crashing  through  the  night, 
A  message  with  the  speed  of  light 


102  THAT  WORLD-WIDE   PEACE 

Flashing  to  every  town  and  farm. 

Calling  the  men  to  rise  and  arm. 

A  far-flung  cry,  a  bugle  call, 

A  roll  of  drums,  then,  rallying  all. 

And  money  flows,  a  golden  flood. 

For  insult  must  be  paid  in  blood. 

The  cry  goes  forth,  **More  ships  and  guns. 

More  giving  of  the  nation's  sons. 

More  broken  hearts,  more  griefs  to  tell. 

For  this  is  war,  and   war  is  hell.'  " 

Oh!  beautiful  in  theory, 

A  peace  that  binds  humanity; 

But  this  I  say,  by  pen  or  scroll 

You  cannot  change  the  human  soul 

Or  wash  away  its  selfishness. 

Author  of  half  the  world's  distress. 

When  wrong  is  banished  from  the  world 

Then  battle-flags  will  all  be  furled! 


THE    BROOK   AND   THE    BOY  103 

THE  BROOK  AND  THE  BOY 

A  brook  burst  forth  from  its  mountain  head 

And  it  sang  right  merrily 
As  it  tumbled  down  o*er  its  mossy  bed 

On  its  way  to  the  old, old  sea; 
But  the  desert  lay  like  a  sea  unchart 

Twixt  the  purple  hills  and  the  ocean's  heart. 
The  sun  shone  down  with  a  withering  look. 

And  he  smote  wiih  a  withering  hand, 
So  he  beckoned  the  mists,  and  the  wandering 
brook 

It  was  lost  in  the  desert  sand. 

But  hidden  deep  from  the  fierce  white  heat 

It  onward  crept  to  the  shore 
Where  the  wandering  winds,  and  the  wavelets 
beat 

And  the  storm-whipped  breakers  roar; 
And  a  great  ship  bides  on  the  restless  tides 

And  her  white  sails  flash  and  gleam. 
And  down,  down  neath  the  hull,  as  the  billow 
she  rides. 

Is  the  LIFT  of  the  desert  stream. 


A  baby  lay  in  his  mother's  arms, 

And  he  laughed  in  his  childish  glee 
As  she  softly  sang  of  his  baby  charmi 


104      THE  BROOK  AND  THE  BOY 

(And  a  thousand  she  could  see)  ; 
But  the  months  sped  on,  with  the  rolling  years, 

And  the  baby  a  youth  he  grew; 
And   the   dear  little  mother   saw   through   her 
tears 

He  was  wearing  the  soldier's  blue. 

Hark,  a  shot  rang  out  in  the  morning  gloam. 

And  it  echoed  o'er  peak  and  crag! 
And  it  woke  the  boy  in  his  far-off  home, 

'Twas  a  shot  at  his  country's  flag! 
And   the  boy  went   forth    at     the     chieftain's 
call— 

For  a  loyal  heart  had  he; 
And    somewhere    in    France    HE    GAVE    UP 
HIS  ALL, 

As  the  brook  gave  its  life  to  the  sea. 


JANUARY    1  105 


THE  MONTHS 


JANUARY  1 

(Greeting) 


Awake!  arise!  dawn  lights  the  eastern  sky 
And  far-flung  rays  arouse  the  slumbrous 
west: 
We  greet  the  year  with  firm  resolve,  and  high, 
To   give  each   day   our  best — OUR  VERY 
Best. 


106  FEBRUARY 

FEBRUARY 

(Achievement) 

The  snow  is  on  the  mountain, 

A  chill  is  in  the  air. 
The  tracks  of  our  old  enemy 

Are  patent  everywhere; 
But  inside  the  giant  canvas 

That  roofs  the  ORANGE  SHOW 
Forgotten  are   the  ugly   tracks, 

And  far  away  the  snow. 

Before  us  lies  the  Southland, 
With  warmth  and  light  aglow, 

The  same  loved  California 
That  we  are  wont  to  know; 

And  in  ten  thousand  globules 
The  yellow  sunshine  gleams 

As  stored-up  gold  of  summer. 

And  flash  of  romping  streams. 

Artists,  in  truth,  have  woven 

Into  the  matchless  scene 
A  tout  ensemble  of  beauty 

Of  orange  and  gold  and  green; 
And  all  the  world  is  bidden 

With  loud  and  clarion  call. 
To   see  this  twelfth  exhibit — 

THE  GREATEST  SHOW  OF  ALL. 


MARCH-APRIL  107 

MARCH 

(The  tides) 
O,  constant  tides  that  faithful  run 

To  meet  the  all-controlling  sun! 
What  titan  force  is  thine? 

Thy  power  that  might  a  mountain  lift 
May  fall  into  man's  lap,  a  gift. 

At  some  Marconian  shrine. 


APRIL 

(The  Rain) 
Wind  of  the  western  sea. 

To  thy  traditions  be 
Constant  and  true; 

So  shalt  thou  bring  the  rain 
To  fruit  and  field  and  plain. 

And  hope  renew. 


108  MAY- JUNE 

MAY 
(Opportunity) 

Month  of  cheer  and  cherry  bloom 

That  shall  waft  us  back  afar 
Where  we  stood  with  boundless  room 

At  the  gates  of  life  ajar. 

Room  to  climb  just  rung  by  rung; 

Time  to  choose  which  way  to  go; 
Did  we  lose  ourselves  among 

Loitering  crowds?  Oh,  say  not  so. 

JUNE 

(Petition) 

O  that  the  year  was  just  one  long  sweet  June! 

Wherein  content  and  happiness  abide. 
Each  morning  aging  into  radiant  noon. 

Each  mid-day  drifting  into  eventide. 
O,  life  is  sweet  and  the  world  is  fair 

When  the  ides  of  June  hold  not  a  care. 

O,  that  the  world  had  less  of  bitterness 
And  more  of  faith,  and  hope  and  charity! 

More  of  the  spirit  of  forgetfulness. 
Less  of  the  rancor  of  adversity; 

O,  life  would  be  sweet  in  a  world  atune 

To  a  year  that  is  just  one  long,  sweet  June. 


JULY-AUGUST  109 

JULY 

(Patriotism) 

Flag  of  all  flags,  where'er  on  this  great  day 

Shall  fly  thy  silken  folds  on  land  or  sea. 
May  earnest  men  renewed  allegiance  pay 

And  praise  High  Heaven  for  law  and  liberty! 
All  honor,  then,  to  thee  our  flag,  we  yield; 

To  thy  traditions  will  securely  hold 
Till  age  shall  dim  the  stars  upon  thy  field, 

And  time  shall  blanch  the  crimson  of  thy 
folds. 


AUGUST 

(Fulfillment) 
Hail!  regal  one,  'thy  garb  of  green  and  gold 
Is  ever  new,  though  Time  and  thou  art  old. 
Springtime     and     summer     thy     rich     vesture 
weaves, 
And  havest  fills  thy  lap  with  golden  sheaves. 


110  SEIPTEMBER-QCTOBER 

SEPTEMBER 

(Indian  Summer) 
Softly  the  haze  of  autumn,  drifting  o'er 
The  sear  brown  stretches  of  the  fields,  enfolds 
The  Southland;  and     in     enchanting     beauty 

holds 
The  hills,  the  vales  and  the  far-distant  shore. 


OCTOBER 

(Nature  Voices) 
Softly  the  light  fades  on  the  distant  hills; 
Deep-dyed   the  west  with  shafts  of   ruddy 
gold; 
Autumnal  evening  spreads  her  wings  and  stills 
A  thousand  voices  of  the  copse  and  fold. 

Dawn  wakes  the  world  and  lights  the  glowing 
hills, 
And  fires  anew  the  feverish  quest  for  gold; 
OCTOBER  speaks  through  falling  leaves,  and 
stills 
Us  with  fond  memories  of  the  year  grown 
old. 


NO  VEMBEOEl-DECEMBER  111 

NOVEMBER 

(Autumnal) 
All  brown  and  sear  the  grasses 

Upon  the  russet  plain; 
The  wind  moans  through  the  passes, 

A  harbinger  of  rain; 
The  clouds  are  drifting,  drifting, 

Like  sails  upon  a  sea. 
Nature  her  heart  is  lifting 

In  glad  expectancy. 


DECEMBER  31 

(Harvest) 

Time  reaps  the  years  and   strews  the  golden 

sheaves 

Along  the  paths  where  lie  our  destines — 

A  friend,  a  flower,  a  hand  to  one  who  grieves, 

A  harvest  of  the  year's  best  memories. 


112  EASTER   MORN 

EASTER  MORN 

Hail  glorious  morn!  that  heralds  to  the  world 

The  risen  Lord,  the  tomb,  the  open  door — 
The  milk-white  banners  of  the  Cross  unfurled 
That  pledge  an  open  tomb  forevermore. 

**0  glorious  morn!"   the  herald  angels  cry; 
**Whom  seek  ye  here?      Chirst      lives;   He 
reigns  on  high/* 

O  love  Divine!  Beyond  all  depth  or  height; 

O  Sacrificial  Lamb  of  Calvary! 
Help  us  to  upward  climb  unto  the  Light, 
Out  of  the  gloom  of  our  Gethsemane. 

O  love  supreme,  transcending  all  our  ken. 

As  Thou  dost  live,  shall  we  not  live  again? 

O  Faith  sublime!   that  graspes      the     Eternal 
Throne 
And  steadfast      holds,      nor      doubts,      nor 

shrinks,  nor  fears; 
O  dauntless  hope!  that  sees  the  rolled  stone. 
And,     trusting,     onward   presses   through     the 
years. 

**0  glorious  morn!'*  redeemed  millions  cry, 
••CHRIST  LIVES!    He     rules     the     world! 
MAN  SHALL  NOT  DIE.** 


THE    BLUE    AND   THE    GREY  113 

THE  BLUE  AND  THE  GREY 

Tramp,   tramp,   and   fainter  grows  the  sound 
each  year. 

And  shorter  is  the  line  adown  the  street; 
Less  of  the  shouting  of  the  throng  I  hear 

When  grizzled  heads  and  weary  halting  feet 
Pass  in  review.  O  comrades  drop  a  tear 

In  memory  of  these,  and  pray  that  we, 
Whose  faith  they  kept,  shall  not  ungrateful  be. 

Tramp,  tramp,  O  the  proud  ranks  that  march- 
ed away 
With  rythmic  step,     and     banners     carried 
high! 
What  though  they  knew  that  shadows  cold  and 
grey 
Would  them  enfold.  They  marched  to  Do, 
and  DIE! 
To  barter  life  for  one  victorious  day — 

Nor  faltered  when  the  rain  or  shot  and  shell 
Turned  billowed  fields  to  furnaces  of  hell. 

Tramp,   tramp,   a  few     swift-flying     years  at 
most. 


114      THE  BLUE  AND  THE  GREY 

Then,  taps.      One  long,  reverberating  call 
Shall  mark  the  passing  of  that  blue-grey  host 
That    fololwed    Grant    and    Lee.    God    rest 
them  all 
Whose  names  on  freedom's  scroll  time  has  en- 
grossed. 
Here  let  us  lay  one  fragrant  flower  today 
Above  our  fallen  heroes,  blue  and  grey. 


As  pass  the  years  in  grand  processional 
To  mingle  with  the  dust  of  yesterdays, 

O,  let  us  kneel  at  some  confessional 

And  seek  forgiveness  for  withholden  praise! 

In  life,  in  death,  they  wrote  a  new  decree 
That  girt  the  world  with  hope  of  liberty: 

They   wrote   in   blood — Man   Shall    Be   Free! 
BE  FREE  I 


A  PRAYER  115 

A  PRAYER 


Sweetheart,   may  you  never  know 

Where  the  bitter  waters  flow, 
Where  the  thorny  brambles  grow. 

May  you  miss  the  stone  way 

As  you  work  and  as  you  play. 
Climbing  upward  every  day. 

Trials  come  to  young  and  old; 

May  you,  as  refiner  s  gold, 
Stand  the  test  one  hundred  fold. 

Little  girl  with  sunny  hair, 

God  will  keep  you  in  His  care; 
This  is  **Daddie's"  humble  prayer. 


CAROLINE  ''''S^^»117 

CAROLINE 

(The  only  grandbaby  of  the  household. 
She  gets  everything  she  wants  from  her  grand- 
mother, MOST  everything  she  wants  from  her 
Grandfather  and  bids  fair  to  continue  to  hold 
a  controlling  interest  in  their  affections.) 

She  slips  her  little  hand  in  mine 

And  rests  it  there  with  perfect  trust. 

And  says,   **now  we'll  go  down  the  line 
To  see  the  things;  Oh  yes  you  must!" 

It  matters  not  that  I  am  tired. 

Or  have  a  million  things  to  do, 
She  promptly  tells  me  I  am  hired. 

And  pays  me  with  a  kiss,  or  two. 

She  marches  me  to  **gladi  row" 

Where  gorgeous  spikes  that  proudly  rise, 
Flame  out  in  colors  of  the  bow 

With  which  God  sometimes  spans  the  skies. 

We  count  the  spikes  of  varied  hue. 
Full-blown,  or  opening  to  the  light, 

A  shell  pink,  or  a  red,  quite  new. 
Queens  of  a  glorious  summer  night. 


118  CAROLINE 

Reluctantly  we  say  good  bye; 

As  I  am  martialed  into  line 
We  leave  the  row,  gladioli, 

To  see  the  'Thompson's  seedless'*  vine. 

The  **Mission,"  on  resistent  root; 

**Niagara,"  its  hard  to  beat; 
And  **Almaria'* — see  that  shoot! 

And  **Pierce,"  its  grown  at  least  three  feet. 

*'Oh  Daddy,  see  the  Delaware! 

Its  loaded  down  with  lovely  grapes; 
The  quails  and  linnets  will  not  care 

If  I  eat  just  what  few  escape." 

Oh  yes,  the  prune;  I  most  forgot; 

It  has  not  done  well  as  it  might, 
But  this  is  such  a  lonesome  spot  — 

Perhaps  its  **seein'  things  at  night." 

And  that  persimmon  Howard  brought — 
Just  see  those  twigs,  how  fast  they  grow, 

I  wonder,  now,  who  would  have  thought — 
**No,  Daddy,  one  more  place  to  go!" 

"Come  on!  its  really  worth  your  while 
To  see  the  zinnias,  tall  and  brave," 


CAIROLINE 


119 


And  so  I  go,  and  softly  smile 
That  I  am  such  a  willing  slave. 

And  all  the  time  her  little  hand 
Has  nestled  in  my  hand,  just  so; 

^TOMORROW,  if  it  does  not  rain." 
My  captor  says,  Tspose  Til  go. 


120  THE  PACIFIC 

THE  PACinC 

I  stand  beside  the  western  sea 
In  awe  of  its  immensity. 

And  bare  my  head  in  voiceless  praise 
To  Him  who  keepeth  all  my  ways. 

I  hear  the  waves  that  softly  beat 
Upon  the  shingle  at  my  feet; 

I  see  the  milk-white  spray  that  leaps 
From  hidden  rocks  within  its  deeps; 

I  hear  the  crash,  the  ceaseless  roar 
Of  waves  upon  a  rocky  shore; 

I  see  a  gull  with  pinion  white 
Cleaving  the  mists  in  measured  flight; 

A  masted  ship  before  the  breeze 
Zigzags  the  highways  of  the  seas; 

A  grey,   forbidding,  armed  fort 
Is  plowing  to  some  distant  port; 

A  giant  liner  puts  to  sea 
A  speck  on  its  immensity; 


THE   PACIFIC  121 

And  stately  ships  come  proudly  home 
Whipping  the  waves  to  silvery  foam. 


And,   standing  here  untrammeled,   free, 
I  seek  to  read  the  mystery 

That  buried  in  this  throbbing  sea 
Calls  to  the  world,  and  calls  to  me. 

To  me — a  speck  upon  the  shore 
Whose  tides  flow  on  forevermore! 

Oh,  mighty  sea!  thy  depths  profound 
May  utter  no  translated  sound, 

But  I  may  hear  in  waves  and  wind, 
**The  sea  is  servant  to  mankind.'* 

Aye!  This  the  wisdom  of  the  age; 
It  glows  from  every  nature-page; 

The  earth,  the  air,  the  sky,  the  sea. 
And  all  the  powers  that  in  them  be. 
Are  bondmen  All:  Man,  MAN  IS  FREE! 


122  A  LIFE  PETITION 

A  LIFE  PETITION 

Saviour,  keep  me  through  life's  morn 
Ere  its  heat  and  strife  are  born; 

If  dark  dangers  round  me  hide 
Draw  me  closer  to  Thy  side, 

Let  me  ever  there  abide. 

Saviour,   O  forget  me  not  I 

When  the  blood  of  youth  is  hot; 

When  with  sin  my  soul  would  race 
In  a  riotous  embrace. 

Keep,  O,  keep  me  by  Thy  grace  I 

Saviour,  lead  me  when  my  sun 

To  meridian  has  run; 
When  the  world's  noon-glare  and  heat 

Ruthlessly  upon  me  beat 
May  I  every  crisis  meet. 

Saviour,  take  my  hand  in  Thyne 
As  I  near  the  day's  decline 

Whence  the  shadows  fall  so  fast: 
Thou  alone  forgiveness  hast, 

O,  forget  the  faithless  past. 


A    LIFE    PETITION 


123 


Saviour,  be  my  Pilot,  Guide; 

When  my  bark  shall  outward  ride 
On  the  all-uncharted  sea; 

What  its  tides,  and  whence  its  flow, 
Whither  bound,   I  cannot  know; 

Thou,  art  All  in  All  to  me. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
BERKELEY 


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